


If I Had Sleeves, I’d Wear My Heart There

by somanyopentabs



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyopentabs/pseuds/somanyopentabs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was like something out of a porno; the six of them, gathered back at the mansion, disheveled and sweating and high on pheromones.  </p><p>(Other mentioned pairings are Steve/Tony and Natasha/Thor.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Had Sleeves, I’d Wear My Heart There

**Author's Note:**

> This fic deals with sex pollen, so while I'd like to think I've made it pretty clear that the sex is consensual, I also want to make it clear that there are some pheromones at play here, in case that makes anyone uncomfortable.

It was like something out of a porno; the six of them, gathered back at the mansion, disheveled and sweating and high on pheromones. Well, except for Thor, but he’d stuck around, asking if he could help.

He’d been willingly dragged off by Natasha in the direction of her bedroom. Clint kind of wanted to needle her about it, tell her that she couldn’t just call dibs on Norse gods like that, but it happened too quickly, and his mind was having difficulties processing. He was almost beyond keeping himself from shoving a hand down his own pants in front of everyone, just to relieve some pressure.

That’s when Steve and Tony abandoned them, already tangled up in each other’s limbs as they made their way out of the room, Steve gasping out apologies in Clint and Bruce’s direction as Tony did his best to undress him before they even had any privacy.

Clint may have let out a small groan of frustration, then, because while he couldn’t exactly blame the team captain from going off to sex up his boyfriend after being doused with a biological weapon that seemed to be, in essence, a powerful aphrodisiac, it wasn’t exactly helpful either.

Clint shot a hopeful look at Bruce, who was still standing beside him, looking shocked and raking a hand through his ridiculously adorable mop of curls.

“So,” Clint said, helplessly, feeling overheated and tense.

Bruce licked his lips, and Clint couldn’t help the way his attention was drawn in. Those lips looked sugar sweet and glossy pink like hard candy. The hue only deepened when Bruce bit fretfully at his lower lip and glanced over at Clint with attractive yet wary brown eyes.

“I guess we should...” Bruce said, trailing off, his voice sounding rough. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a jacket sleeve and motioned for Clint to follow him.  


Clint’s heart gave a stutter. That meant sex, right? They were going to have sex.

Well, it wasn’t the way Clint had fantasized about this happening. He’d imagined getting to know Bruce better, imagined stolen kisses in between their avenging duties, imagined them meeting after hours to talk late into the night with their hands clasped together like a secret. And then, one night, Bruce would lean over and kiss him harder than he ever had before, and then he’d whisper to Clint, tell him how much he wanted him, how much he’d thought about letting Clint undress him, press kisses to his bare skin and then finally, _finally_ push him down into the mattress and make every inch of his body feel so good, so very, very good.  


Yeah, Clint had other fantasies, too, dirtier ones that involved Bruce taking him over a desk, or Clint coming all over Bruce’s face. But the main one, well, Clint could hardly be faulted for knowing what he wanted, and Clint didn’t really _do_ casual. Not like Tony did, or maybe used to, before Steve. He liked to feel connected to his partners, and he’d long since felt that budding connection with Bruce. He’d felt something for Bruce since the very first day he’d met him, big and green, and then later that day, smaller and more skittish but no less impressive to Clint.

Clint sucked in a breath as he followed Bruce down the hallway. Thinking about Bruce, about his soft lips and warm skin and tight, lean body—it was making him even harder, and he hadn’t even thought that was possible. He was so hard that it hurt, his erection pressing rudely up against the stiff material of his SHIELD issue black pants that were doing nothing to help the situation. It took all his willpower to keep from touching, to act with restraint, because there was no way he was going to start fondling himself next to Bruce, not when the doctor seemed to be handling the urges so much better. He wasn’t breathing nearly as hard as Clint, and the only hints that he was even affected were the shaking of his hands and the small beads of sweat that were gathering at his forehead and the nape of his neck.

Clint boggled a little when Bruce passed up both of their bedrooms and led them up to his lab, but if Bruce wanted to do this there, well, Clint didn’t have a problem with it.

Clint’s mouth went dry when Bruce undid the button on his cuff and rolled up his sleeve, exposing bare skin. Bruce usually had his sleeves rolled up when he was working; it never failed to catch Clint’s eye, the way he casually let that hint of what was underneath show. Clint wanted to see it all, wanted to undress him nice and slow, wanted Bruce to show him everything, let him touch everywhere.

Then Bruce grabbed a syringe from the lab table, and suddenly Clint’s thoughts got a whole lot less sexy, at least for the time being. He couldn’t completely get sex off his mind, with the way he was still doped up on what felt like sex-fiend fairy dust.

“What are you...?” Clint said, hazily watching as Bruce found a vein in his own arm and proceeded to draw blood.

“We should get a sample of your blood, too,” Bruce muttered, turning around to grab a test tube off the counter and transfer the blood from the syringe into it. “What with the abnormalities in my own, it’s not a good measure of what will happen with the rest of the team. Well, maybe not Steve. Steve and I may be more similar than you, Tony, and Natasha. At least on a molecular level.”

Clint’s face fell, and he didn’t even bother to hide it. “You mean you’re...you’re studying it?”

“It’s the only way to find an antidote, as well as maybe giving us some idea of how long the effects will last. Could I see your arm, please?”

Clint obliged and stuck out his arm for Bruce to jab a needle into. Bruce was oblivious to the way Clint gasped when Bruce’s hand touched his arm to hold him still for the blood draw.

Clint wondered idly if he could think up a polite way to leave so he could get some privacy and maybe take matters into his own hands. He somehow doubted that would help much, with the way he was feeling, but anything would be better than standing there and watching Bruce lean over the lab counter in concentration, his posture highlighting the cute curve of his ass underneath the worn fabric of his pants.

“How can you even focus right now?” Clint asked, his voice strained and nearly cracking on the last word. He was so warm, he felt almost feverish with need.

“What?” Bruce looked over his shoulder at him, in the process of putting a slide under the microscope. His dark curls framed his face, falling against his flushed skin. 

He must have been affected just as much as Clint, to look like that, but the man had so much control, no wonder he could ignore it so much better than Clint could.

“Nothing, nothing,” Clint said, waving his hands ineffectually in Bruce’s direction. Instead of talking, Clint grabbed hold of the tabletop, steadying himself and watching his knuckles go white under the stress he was putting on them.

Bruce was still peering at the samples under the microscope, but when he picked up a pen to make a note, and then absent-mindedly brought that pen to his mouth and sucked on the end of it, Clint could barely hold himself together.

“Bruce, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe the scientific method isn’t exactly our only option here,” Clint breathed, his sight still focused on Bruce’s full lips wrapped around the pen cap.

“You have another idea?” Bruce glanced at him over the tops of his glasses, and god-fucking-damn it, didn’t the man have any clue on what this was doing to Clint?

“Oh, _come on_. Don’t tell me you’ve never leant a guy a hand before,” Clint said, the words coming out high-pitched and pleading. He was past the point of caring how he sounded, however. Way past that point. He was sure he looked like a desperate wreck, anyway, and there really was no salvaging the situation as it was.

“You’re suggesting...?” Bruce’s eyebrows shot up, like he honestly hadn’t considered it.

“Look, even if you’re straight, what’s a handjob between friends, right? I just—everyone else is taking the easy solution right now. Why shouldn’t we?” It was hardly Clint’s strongest argument, and if his head wasn’t spinning, he was sure that he could have made a better one, but for the time being, that was all he had, and he could only hope that his meaning would come across without being offensive.

Bruce stared at him a little longer, setting down the pen and taking off his glasses. He pushed a hand through his unruly curls and bit thoughtfully at his lip.

“It’s not...I don’t...that is to say, I don’t have an issue with sleeping with men, strictly speaking.” Bruce still looked reluctant, and couldn’t quite meet Clint’s eyes as he said it.

“Oh,” Clint murmured, letting that sink in. If Bruce didn’t have a problem with the fact that he was a man, then, “It’s me, isn’t it? I—I’m sorry you got stuck with me of all people, god, sorry—“

“It’s not you,” Bruce decided quickly. “This—this isn’t anyone’s fault, Clint. But you, uh, you shouldn’t feel like you have to proposition me. From what I can tell from the samples so far, this isn’t a permanent state. We may be able to wait it out.”

“Wait it out,” Clint echoed quietly, finally, finding it impossible not to feel disappointed and rejected. “You’d rather wait it out than have sex with me, that’s what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying you shouldn’t feel obligated to have sex with _me_ because I’m your only option right now,” Bruce snapped, tugging exasperatedly at his own shirt collar.

Clint’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tiny bit of Bruce’s chest that was now exposed, but quickly looked away. “It’s not like that,” he whispered under his breath.

Bruce was taking a deep breath and turning back to the table when he stopped and said, “What was that?”

“I said, it’s not like that. If we—if we did anything, it wouldn’t be an obligation. I wouldn’t be doing it because you’re the only one here.”

“...Why else would you be doing it?” Bruce answered wearily, like it was a rhetorical question and he didn’t expect an answer. He picked up his glasses and put them back on, sighing and sounding distant.

“Because—because I’ve wanted to for a long time,” Clint admitted, failing to keep the hope out of his tone.

Bruce frowned at him. “The pheromones must be affecting you a little more than we’d thought.”

“It’s not the pheromones,” Clint shouted. He snapped his mouth closed with an audible click when he realized he’d yelled that, and then continued in a much lower voice. “It’s not. I promise, it’s not. I—I hope you don’t hate me for saying this, but I’ve, uh, had kind of a thing for you for a while. Ever since I met you, really. Listen, when Fury and Natasha gave me your file, I thought—I dunno, I thought you’d be some asshole who thinks he’s better than anyone else, with your fancy degree and skyscraper IQ, and, you know, the whole rage monster thing. I thought you’d be a real jerk. And then I met you—no, I met the other you, first. And you know what? He wasn’t just some uncontrollable angry _thing_ , because he didn’t hurt civilians, even when he was being hunted down and shot at. He was still careful. And when I saw you for the first time, you were wearing a freaking shock blanket and handcuffs, and you were still a decent enough person to ask about casualties. You were the picture of misery, and you still found it in you to speak kindly to the paramedics. And since then, I don’t think I’ve ever, ever seen you treat anyone with anything less than compassion. So, there you have it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to die of embarrassment while I go jerk off in the shower.”

“Wait.” In an instant, Bruce’s hand was touching his arm, so very lightly, but it still was enough to speed up Clint’s heart rate and make him stop in his tracks. “I remembered you, you know. Even though you didn’t talk to me then, I remember that day. You were the one who told the soldiers to loosen my handcuffs, because you could tell they were too tight. I thought you’d forgotten. Everyone else seems to find me rather forgettable, when I’m just Bruce, and not--not... _him_.”

“I couldn’t forget. Wouldn’t,” Clint clarified.

“No, you didn’t, did you?” Bruce said, his dark eyes pouring over Clint’s face, as if searching for an answer to some unasked question. He licked his lips again, highlighting those perfect pink lips, looking so damn kissable.

Clint swallowed anxiously, because they were standing close now, so very close, and Bruce’s hand was still resting on his arm, and just that one little point of contact was feeling so good, so right, and if Clint could only get more, just a little more...but he had to restrain himself, had to hold himself back.

“Can I tell you something else?” Bruce asked, waiting for Clint’s nod of approval before continuing, “You’re right. I don’t think I can focus anymore. I’m practically burning up, Clint.”

“What do you want me to do?” Clint was the dictionary definition of restraint at this point, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, ignoring the heat and the trickle of sweat that was streaming down his neck and into his already damp t-shirt.

“What I want—“ Bruce started, then stopped. He paused to take his glasses from his face and set them resolutely down on the lab counter, then switched tracks for a moment, saying, “If we do this, I don’t know how things will be after.”

“Let’s just take this one step at a time then, okay?” Clint suggested, flexing his fingers at his sides. “I’m not gonna be a jerk about it after, if that’s what you mean.”  


“Oh. I—Clint, I don’t think I can hold off anymore. I need—will you touch me? I need you to touch me.”

Clint didn’t have to be asked twice. He surged forward, wrapping his hands around Bruce’s trim waist and pressing their bodies together. He captured Bruce’s lips in a kiss just as soon as he could, teasing Bruce’s mouth open and deepening the kiss, searching out Bruce’s tongue with his own and licking greedily. They kissed frantically until Bruce pulled back with a gasp, his lips more red than pink now, and he was breathing in short, hot, panting little breaths that hitched in his throat.

Clint latched onto Bruce’s neck, sucking kisses along it as his hands worked Bruce’s belt buckle open. It was almost unbearable, just how desperate Clint was for touch, the need growing within him with each passing moment.

Clint moved his hand to feel the hard line of Bruce’s cock. Gasping immediately, Bruce rubbed up against his palm as Clint touched him through the fabric of his boxers.

“God, Bruce. You have no idea how much I want you right now.”

“I might... _oh_...have an inkling,” Bruce panted between words, pressing shamelessly against Clint’s hand in an effort to get more friction.

Clint whined in the back of his throat, turning his head to catch Bruce’s earlobe between his teeth and nip at it lightly. Just the simple contact alone was doing wonders to take off the edge that Clint had been trying to ignore ever since they’d been affected by the foreign substance. Bruce was writhing, moaning obscenely underneath his hands, and he still hadn’t even felt his dick without the cover of his underwear yet. Clint decided to rectify that immediately, reaching inside the soft undergarments and giving Bruce an experimental squeeze. Bruce’s cock was heavy and hot in his hold, and Clint smoothed his hand down the length of it, then up and down a few times, wrenching another desperate moan from Bruce’s pretty mouth.

“Clint, that—that’s so _good_ , Clint,” Bruce said, his voice rough, his breath hot on Clint’s neck. 

“Want me to make you come like this? Make you come in your pants?” Clint stilled his hand for a moment, reaching to his own pants with his other hand and unzipping, letting some of the pressure subside as he gave Bruce time to answer.

Bruce bucked into Clint’s hand when he stopped moving, and made a startled, strangled sound, his brown eyes flickering in confusion as he peered into Clint’s face. “Please don’t stop. Please, I—do you want me to beg? I’ll beg, Clint. Get me off and I’ll—get me off and I’ll get down on my knees for you,” he pleaded uncharacteristically, obviously too far gone to care for propriety.

Clint’s eyes went wide at Bruce’s daring words, and he tightened the hand that was wrapped around Bruce. “Keep talking like that and I won’t need much,” Clint admitted when he found his voice again. He started up an easy rhythm with his hand, gratified when Bruce reached up to get a grip on Clint’s shoulders, steadying himself under Clint’s ministrations.

Clint nudged Bruce’s cheek with his until Bruce got the hint and submitted to another kiss, Clint teasing his mouth open with his tongue and kissing him deep and dirty, gliding their tongues together and causing Bruce’s breath to hitch when they finally drew apart again.

“Please, Clint. I’m almost...almost...just a little harder, _please_ ,” Bruce said, plaintive, as he basically clung to Clint’s shoulders, his chest heaving in and out, almost gulping in breaths of air, as if he might pass out from exertion otherwise.

Clint sped up the movement of his hand, letting his thumb tease at the tip. Bruce’s boxers had been long since soaked with the precome leaking from the slit. Bruce felt so good in his hands, thick, but not too thick, and big, too. Big enough to make Clint shudder in pleasure at the thought of taking Bruce inside him.

“How’s that, Bruce? You like it like that? God, just feeling you like this could make me come all over myself. You know what, you’re so hot, you don’t even act like you know, but you are, so much. I can’t even stand it, how much I want you right now. Would you fuck me? ‘Cause I didn’t know you were packing that, but _damn_ , I’d spread my legs for you anytime.”

“ _Clint_ ,” Bruce gasped, and it was half-reverent, half-pornographic, and the soft intonation of his name echoed in Clint’s own ears, sounded like a foreign tongue, like something exotic and heard for the first time.

Bruce’s hands grasped at Clint’s shirt for purchase. He was biting at his lip again and his eyes were squeezed shut, his dark eyelashes fluttering minutely, brushing up against Clint’s cheek when Bruce leaned forward.

“So close, now. So close,” Bruce whispered, his voice wavering but somehow trusting, as he held onto Clint with what seemed like every ounce of him. That Bruce would just trust Clint like that, trust him to take care of him even in this small way, made Clint’s heart ache, made him want to show Bruce every affection and tenderness he could muster. Now was no time to take things slow, but maybe after, after all this, they’d have another chance, and Clint could shower him with soft kisses, warm embraces, and light touches.

Now, though, Clint picked up speed and jerked Bruce slightly harder, and sure enough he felt the tell-tale spasm, felt the twitches of Bruce’s release, and then the wetness underneath his fingers as Clint pulled his hand away.

Bruce was still breathing hard, trying to catch his breath and holding onto Clint as if he’d fall to the floor if he didn’t.

“Oh,” Bruce was mumbling. “Oh. That was. I haven’t. It’s been. Let me—let me reciprocate.” And then Bruce was shoving away from Clint gently and then lowering himself to the floor, looking like a hot mess, kneeling before Clint and looking up at him from under those thick, dark, lashes, the coy glance not really fitting with the filthy things that had so recently come out of Bruce’s mouth, and the way Bruce had just come, hard, into his own boxer shorts.

“You don’t have to suck me, you know,” Clint said, against his baser instincts, not wanting to get a blow job out of some possible misplaced sense of obligation that Bruce might be feeling. “I’m—I’m pretty easy, pretty sure you could just jerk me off for a minute and I’d be good to go.”

Clint fiddled purposelessly with his belt, cursing himself mentally, because what kind of guy tries to turn down a blow job, especially one from someone as pretty as Bruce. Bruce, with his bitten-pink lips and flushed cheeks, wild, wavy curls and kind, brown eyes. Bruce, with that warm, wet mouth and clever tongue that was on offer _right that very second_.

“It wouldn’t...it wouldn’t exactly be a chore, Clint. I—I’d like to, actually. Let me blow you? I’ll make it good for you, so good.” Then Bruce put his hands on top of Clint’s, drawing them away from his belt, and Bruce brought his own hands back to rest there, waiting for Clint to give him the go-ahead.

“God, yes,” Clint answered, watching in anticipation as Bruce nodded to himself and unbuckled Clint’s belt all the way, then tugged at Clint’s pants and briefs until they slid down to mid-thigh, exposing Clint’s hard-on.

Clint couldn’t keep his own hand away, then, gripping himself and giving his cock a few perfunctory strokes with his hand. Bruce licked his lips and leant in, licking beads of precome from the head of Clint’s prick as Clint continued to work his hand up and down the shaft.

“Oh. Oh, Bruce. _Fuck_ ,” Clint groaned, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to miss a second of the picture in front of him, Bruce looking so very much at home on his knees, teasing at Clint with his pink tongue. Bruce moved forward, then, and wrapped his lips around the head, sucking at it and letting his tongue glide and swirl over the slit. Clint stilled his own hand, and Bruce took him further into his mouth and sucked, hollowing out his cheeks and reaching up a hand to wrap around the part of Clint’s shaft that he couldn’t quite manage to swallow down. 

Clint’s hands immediately went to Bruce’s hair, running eager fingers through Bruce’s ringlets and cupping Bruce’s head lightly at the nape of his neck.  


“So good, that’s so good,” Clint said in a hushed tone, gasping out loud when Bruce bobbed his head a little quicker and sucked harder. Clint had been right about being on the edge, about being close enough to come with minimal contact. He pulled out of Bruce’s mouth, who looked surprised and about to protest, and jerked himself, once, twice, and then came into his own hand.

“I was going to finish,” Bruce pointed out, not moving from his position on the floor.

“Sorry. I didn’t have enough time to warn you. Didn’t want to just come in your mouth without warning.”

As Bruce zipped himself back up, he couldn’t help but feel that, along with the sweet feeling of release, there was also a twinge of desire back under his skin once again.

“How, uh, how long did you think this is gonna last?” Clint tried to ask casually.

“I didn’t get a chance to do a more thorough analysis, but my best guess is, it isn’t over yet. I’m hard again,” Bruce admitted apologetically.

“Here,” Clint said, offering Bruce a hand and helping him to his feet. “You wanna take this someplace a little more private?”

“Could we?” Bruce asked, his voice cracking, clearly a little embarrassed at the turn of events. Clint could definitely sympathize; he could feel the stirrings of need within himself already, and he hadn’t had a refractory rate this quick since his younger years.

“My room?” Clint suggested. It was closest, and he had lube and condoms there, if Bruce agreed to any sort of penetration.

“Okay,” Bruce said, managing to sound both hopeful and resigned in two syllables. 

They encountered no one as Clint led them through the hallway, the rest of the team most certainly still engaged in similar activities. Bruce shut the door to Clint’s bedroom behind them, locking it and then double-checking the lock, as Clint immediately began to strip out of his clothes.

“I’m burning up in these,” Clint explained, apologetic, but not ashamed enough to stop as he stripped off every article of clothing he was wearing. “It’s not like there’s anything left you haven’t really seen anyway.”

“Should I--?”

Clint shrugged. “If you want. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I know this stuff is making it really difficult to keep our hands off each other, but if you change your mind anytime and want to stop, we can stop. I didn’t undergo those tests to withstand torture for nothing.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, hesitating for a moment before pulling off his own sweat-soaked shirt. “And, if I do anything you don’t like...”

“I’ll let you know.” Clint glanced away as Bruce peeled off the rest of his garments, idly contemplating the fact that by now he was half-hard again.

Clint felt sticky, and said so, suggesting that they hop in the shower and cool off before round two.

“Good idea,” Bruce said, following Clint into the bathroom.

“Cold or hot?” Clint asked, reaching for the water taps.

“Do you think cold will help?”

Clint shook his head. “Probably not.”

“Better make it hot, then,” Bruce answered, clambering into the shower after Clint. Clint got the water running at the perfect temperature, then turned to get an eyeful of Bruce, whose thinner, lean body was braced against the shower wall, his hard, beautiful cock stood at attention between subtly muscular thighs.

Damn it, Clint was hard again. 

“Fuck, just look at you,” Clint breathed, his words just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the spray of the shower.

“What?” Bruce said, trying to back up further before he remembered he was already standing against the wall. He refused to meet Clint’s eyes, saying anxiously, almost defensively, “I suppose I don’t get nearly as much of a workout as you do, kind of comes with the territory, lab work isn’t really conducive for putting on muscle...”

Clint cringed in sympathy at the self-deprecation in Bruce’s voice, but he couldn’t let that stand. “Oh, Bruce. Take a compliment, won’t you?”

“What?” Bruce said again, still misunderstanding.

“You’ve got a great body,” Clint said earnestly. “It’s taking all my concentration right now not just to grab you.”

Bruce smirked, then. “Again with the politeness. What happened to the man who puts his feet on the coffee table and leaves his combat boots all over the mansion?”

“Hey, I may not be the definition of etiquette, but I know how to treat a guy right.” That last bit was supposed to come out as more earnestness, but it took on a second meaning as Bruce’s eyes went even darker, his tongue peeking thoughtfully from his mouth to swipe teasingly against his lower lip.

“Yeah? Why don’t you show me a little more, then.”

Clint had never been one to back down from a challenge, so when he grabbed Bruce firmly by the hips and pressed their bodies together, their hard-ons brushing against each other tantalizingly, Clint treated Bruce to a kiss that was downright filthy, sloppy and needy, their tongues moving together in desperation. Clint reached down between them and fisted their cocks together, drawing out a moan from Bruce and setting a steady pace while continuing to kiss Bruce completely senseless.

“I love the way you feel against me,” Clint murmured, the reckless immediacy from earlier no longer at the forefront of his mind as he pulled away to bite at Bruce’s neck, and then move up to nibble at the shell of Bruce’s ear. “You’re so hard, and I love it. God, Bruce, you feel _amazing_.”

“Oh.” Bruce kissed him back thoroughly, until Clint was practically breathless.

“That’s okay to say, right?” Clint asked, suddenly unsure, but not letting his grip falter as he continued to stroke them both together. “Because I can shut up anytime, if you’re sick of hearing me put my foot in my mouth.”

“You could put something else in your mouth,” Bruce said, complete with his trademark wry smile and his clever brown eyes shining.

“Yeah?” Clint said, releasing his hold from in between him and then manhandling Bruce back away from the spray of water. “I want to, I really want to.”

Clint dropped to his knees, ignoring the shocked look on Bruce’s face, who had clearly only meant the remark as a joke. Clint took no time at all in taking Bruce into his mouth, however, and turning Bruce’s shocked look into one of pleasure.

“Clint, _you_ ,” Bruce tried to speak, and let his head thud back against the wall as Clint sucked him down messily, using plenty of tongue and just the right amount of suction to make Bruce tremble and shiver and flail his hands at his sides uselessly.

“Won’t be long,” Bruce warned him, letting one of his hands falter uncertainly on the top of Clint’s head as Clint sucked and licked skillfully away.

Clint pulled back, the suction causing an obscene sounding pop when he pulled off completely. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the tip of Bruce’s dick, and then wrapped a hand around the shaft and worked Bruce _hard_.

“I wanna swallow,” Clint confessed, giving Bruce a moment to object before sliding his mouth back around the head of Bruce’s dick in time to catch the first spurts of hot come on his tongue, and then easily swallowing down the rest.

“Not fair,” Bruce said when he got his breath back, and Clint had gotten back up to his feet and was shamelessly pressing his still-hard dick against Bruce’s thigh.

“What’s not fair?” Clint asked, still distracted by the delicious friction he was getting, just rubbing against Bruce, nice and slow.

“You didn’t...er, let me do that for you.”

“It’s okay. You wanna taste? You still can,” Clint said, tugging Bruce’s hands from their positions at his sides and wrapping them around himself as he grinded against Bruce. “You okay with this? I just kinda want to ride you.”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Bruce said, his hands dipping lower around Clint until they were right at his lower back. “Um, anywhere you don’t want to be touched?”

Clint laughed. “If you’re asking if you can play with my ass, go for it.”

Bruce snickered lightly into Clint’s shoulder, maybe a little embarrassed. He still let his hands explore further, though, cupping Clint’s cheeks and giving them a small squeeze.

Clint’s breath hitched, and he started to move a little faster against Bruce, mouthing lazily at Bruce’s collarbone as he did.

Bruce’s fingers eventually traveled a little further, delving between Clint’s cheeks and toying lightly with his hole. That’s when Clint lost it, coming in intense, white streaks all over Bruce. Shaking, he stuck a finger in the wetness and offered it to Bruce, who sucked it into his mouth without hesitation. That was too much for Clint, and he pretty much immediately needed to kiss Bruce again, not stopping until he felt the shower water beginning to run cold, and they both quickly drew apart to rinse off and step out of the shower.

Clint passed a towel over to Bruce and tied one around his own waist, not bothering to dry off his hair, instead opting to let it drip dry. The water droplets felt nice against his back anyway, as his body temperature still hadn’t returned to normal.

“Maybe I should go back to the lab, see if I can make sense of those samples yet,” Bruce suggested as they trailed back into Clint’s bedroom.

“Maybe you should fuck me into the mattress,” Clint countered, trying not to look too hopeful as he shucked off his towel onto the floor. He’d been thinking about it ever since he’d gotten his hands on Bruce’s nice, thick cock, and what had just happened in the shower only served to make him want it more.

Bruce only gaped at him, his brow furrowed as if he was confused by the request. “You’re not even hard yet,” Bruce finally pointed out.

Clint contemplated that for a moment. “Maybe it’s finally wearing off.”

“Er,” Bruce said, tugging meaningfully at the towel he still had wrapped around him. “Not so much for me.”

“ _Again_?” Clint asked, eyes going wide.

“Yes,” Bruce sighed.

“Bruce, do you _want_ to fuck me? Because I have no objections to starting now, if you want to.” Indeed, Clint could feel himself starting to get interested in the possible proceedings already. He wasn’t quite sure if it was the pheromones or the prospect of getting fucked, but if he had to guess, he would have said it was a little of each.

Bruce looked torn between decisions, and ran an unsteady hand over his face and then through his damp curls.

“I’m not going to regret this, Bruce,” Clint said quickly. “I won’t regret any of it.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Bruce muttered softly in return. He adjusted his towel again, clearly hard enough to be in discomfort once more.

Clint shook his head, unable to think of a response that would make Bruce believe him without a doubt. Instead he replied, “I think it is wearing down. Maybe one more time, if you want to?”

“We could probably ignore it now.”

“You really don’t look like you can ignore _that_ ,” Clint argued, watching the way Bruce was fidgeting in place.

“All right,” Bruce conceded. “But only if you’re sure.”

“Oh, yeah.” Clint grinned. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted you to fuck me?”

“I thought that was just sex talk.” Bruce returned the smile shyly and let his towel drop to his feet.

“It was. It was still true, though.”

Clint pulled Bruce over to the bed by his wrists, leading him backwards until the backs of Clint’s legs hit the bed and he turned to crawl up on it, trying to look as inviting as possible. He needn’t have worried, as Bruce looked infinitely more eager now, most likely encouraged by Clint’s enthusiasm about the whole deal.  


Stretching out on the bed, Clint reached over to his nightstand and grabbed lube and a condom, to which Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Just be glad I have this so we don’t have to make do with spit,” Clint said, too turned on to be entirely defensive, but flushing a little nonetheless.

“I didn’t say anything,” Bruce said loftily, reaching out and snagging the lube out of Clint’s hand before they could take that thread of the conversation any further. Bruce was kneeling between Clint’s spread legs, and as he opened the tube to slick up his fingers, Clint’s brain nearly short-circuited in anticipation. 

“Um,” Bruce said, scooting backwards to get at a better angle to prep Clint. “Do you need me to go slow, or...?”

“Yeah, probably not a bad idea,” Clint acquiesced, even if part of him wanted to tell Bruce to just slick him up already and stick it in. There was no need to rush, even if he was starting to feel like it. He was almost fully hard again, and Bruce hadn’t even touched him yet.

On his back, Clint lifted his legs up until his knees were curled toward his chest and he could hold onto his thighs with his hands, giving Bruce plenty of space to work with.

Bruce, for his part, cautiously circled his entrance with one slippery finger before gliding gracefully inside and drawing out a moan from Clint. Bruce fucked him with that one finger, in and out, in and out, until Clint lost patience and practically growled that he was ready for another one. The stretch from Bruce’s fingers as he added a second and a third was bliss as Bruce worked his fingers inside, exploring and loosening him as gently as he could. When Bruce hit Clint’s sweet spot, he held back a cry and let his grip on his legs falter.

“That’s good, I’m good,” Clint said, flipping himself onto his stomach and looking back over his shoulder. “You don’t mind, like this? I don’t think I can hold my legs up any longer.”

“No, it’s perfect,” Bruce answered, letting an errant hand smooth tenderly over Clint’s ass. Clint adjusted himself so his legs were spread wider. He heard the distinct sound of a condom wrapper tearing as Bruce put it on himself, and soon he felt the blunt head of Bruce’s cock entering him slowly, stretching him patiently. Clint pushed back a little, eager to take more, but careful, since it had been a while since he’d been fucked like this.  


“Okay?” Bruce asked, pressing in a little more urgently.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s good, keep going. Slow is good, though.”

One of Bruce’s hands went to Clint’s lower back, while the other went to his hip, keeping him steady.

Bruce bottomed out, filling Clint up so perfectly, so completely, and stopped, rubbing soothing circles on Clint’s lower back. Clint shuddered in pleasure at the sweet motion and rocked back an inch or so, getting used to the feeling of Bruce’s cock inside of him.

“Ready?” Bruce asked, keeping up the feather light touches that nearly made Clint want to sob with need.

“God, yes, please, you’re so...oh, _Bruce_...you’re so _good_ at this,” Clint gritted out as Bruce began a slow series of thrusts, still touching Clint, holding him, and then leaning down to press soft kisses along Clint’s spine.

Bruce tried out several different angles until he found the one that made Clint moan so loudly he thought he’d die of embarrassment, and was so grateful to be on his stomach where Bruce couldn’t see how red his face was. In all honesty, he hadn’t thought that Bruce would be so good, so talented. Clint was seeing goddamn _stars_ , and they’d only just started.

“Can you take a little more?” Bruce asked, and waited for Clint’s approval before gifting him with a particularly hard shove that made Clint twist his hands in the bed sheets and muffle another moan with a pillow.

Bruce kept fucking him a little harder, and then a little harder still, and then soon Clint was pushing back to meet Bruce’s thrusts, taking him all inside while he nearly screamed himself hoarse with pleasure into the pillow. Clint’s dick was rubbing up against the soft sheets beneath him, and he knew it wouldn’t take much more before he was ready to come again. He was already so close, just a touch would tip him over the edge.

Bruce’s thrusts began to stutter in their rhythm, and Clint forced himself to get up on all fours so he could reach for himself. His hand was met by Bruce’s, which wrapped around him and jerked him with such a perfect motion of the wrist that Clint came instantaneously, shouting nonsense into the bedspread.

“Almost...almost there,” Bruce promised, and gave a few more deep thrusts before coming quietly. He kissed Clint’s back again before pulling out.

Clint dazedly heard Bruce get off the bed and dispose of the condom before climbing back in beside him. Clint’s eyelids were heavy, and in the back of his mind he knew he was falling asleep on the wet spot, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Clint? Clint, I don’t think I can make it back to the lab,” Bruce was saying, and Clint heard him distantly, and tried to answer, but it was as if his body no longer wanted to cooperate.

If Bruce needed to stay, Clint hoped he would. Hell, he hoped he would stay anyway. Clint fell asleep thinking about how much it would suck if he woke up alone in the morning.

 

*

 

Clint woke up warm and only a little sticky, and a glance to his left revealed Bruce still there beside him, Bruce’s face pressed to Clint’s shoulder, their legs tangled together. Clint was thirsty beyond words, to the point of feeling dehydrated, so he moved out of bed as quietly as he could to grab a bottle of water out of his personal refrigerator. After he chugged half of it, as an afterthought, he grabbed a second bottle for Bruce and returned to the bed, setting it on the nightstand for him.  


Sure enough, Bruce woke up shortly after Clint had, looking first down at his lack of clothes, and then at Clint, who had yet to get dressed either. He supposed he could have pulled on at least a pair of boxers, but Clint’s brain hadn’t yet gotten that far.

“Hi,” Bruce said, his voice sounding rough. Wordlessly, Clint handed him the second water bottle, which Bruce took gratefully, gulping down water just as thirstily as Clint had.

“Good morning,” Clint greeted him, when it looked like Bruce was starting to get his bearings.

“Morning,” Bruce echoed, looking unsure as to what the next proper course of action should be. To be perfectly honest, Clint wasn’t sure what he should be doing either. Really, all he wanted was to lie down and snuggle up next to Bruce for another couple hours, and then maybe go get French toast.

Clint sat down awkwardly on the bed, which meant they were both naked and on the bed again, and had effectively gotten nowhere.

“So,” said Bruce, tugging ineffectually at the blankets; they were all tangled up at the bottom of the bed.

Clint sighed, leaned over and kissed Bruce on the mouth. It was chaste compared to what they had done last night. Hell, quite a few of Clint’s previous make out sessions could be considered chaste compared to what he and Bruce had done last night.

“ _Oh_ ,” Bruce exclaimed, surprised. “You’re not still...?”

“Nope.”

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s, uh, good. How are you feeling?”

“Um, a little sore, honestly. You?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m a little, uh, worn out in places too. Not in a bad way, really.”

“Yeah, me either.” Clint rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.

“So, if you’re not, er, affected anymore,” Bruce said, like he was working up to something. “That was, um, you did just kiss me, right? I didn’t imagine it?”

“You didn’t imagine it. I kissed you,” Clint agreed. “Did you like it?”

Bruce gave him a strange look. “Yes, well, it was nice. Clint?”

“Yeah?”

Bruce pursed his lips. “Well, the way I see it, we can either forget what happened last night, or we can...we can...”

“Yeah?” Clint asked when Bruce stopped in the middle of his sentence.

“Or we can _not_ forget it,” Bruce finished, awkwardly.

“And, what, do it again?”

Clint wasn't sure they were on the same page exactly, and needed to clarify.

“If you like,” Bruce said, like he was offering Clint a takeout menu.

Clint had just woken up, and already he’d had enough of them stepping on tiptoes around each other. He crawled over to Bruce and climbed into his lap. “There is no way I want to forget last night, because that was some of the best sex I have ever had in my _life_ , and mostly I just really want to fuck you and then go get breakfast with you.”

“Sex and breakfast?” Bruce asked, puzzled.

“Sex, then breakfast,” Clint repeated. “I like spending time with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Bruce said, something clicking in his brain as a hint of a smile worked its way onto his face and Bruce leaned up to press a kiss onto the corner of Clint’s mouth.

Clint moved off Bruce’s lap to lower him to the bed, once again grabbing the lube, but this time getting the joyous experience of having Bruce writhing and bucking from his fingers as he pushed them in and out of Bruce’s tight little ass. Clint didn’t wind up going nearly as slow with Bruce, because Bruce was surprisingly impatient, climbing up on Clint and straddling him when he didn’t go fast enough. Clint was content to watch Bruce sink down onto his slick cock, taking him all the way inside and then riding him for all he was worth. Clint could barely catch his breath by the time Bruce was coming all over his stomach, gasping Clint’s name like a litany, Bruce’s orgasm causing him to tighten up on Clint’s dick and making him spill out with a ragged moan.

Afterwards, Clint wrapped an arm around Bruce, who was staring oddly at the nightstand.

“What do you need, babe?” Clint asked, trying out the nickname to see if Bruce would protest it.

“My glasses aren’t here,” Bruce said.

“The lab,” Clint answered, remembering. “We left them there. Do you need them right now?”

Whatever Bruce’s answer might have been was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

“Clint?” Steve’s voice carried through the solid oak door. “Are you in there?”

“Yeah,” Clint called back, reluctantly getting up so he could find something decent to wear. He was still sticky with come, neither of them having bothered to clean up yet.

“Have you seen Bruce? He’s not in his lab, but we found his glasses.”

“My glasses?” Bruce said, then, as if suddenly realizing he’d spoken aloud from inside Clint’s room, shut his mouth and pressed his face into a pillow, as if he could take back the words.

“Bruce?” Steve called, sounding confused. “Are you two...are you two, uh...”

“Leave the glasses outside the door, Cap,” Clint answered, “we’ll come down to breakfast soon, okay?”

“Um, okay.”

Clint waited a few moments before opening the door and retrieving the glasses. He locked the door again, just in case, and brought the glasses over to Bruce, who continued to look mortified.

“It’ll be okay, Bruce,” Clint reassured him, planting a firm kiss on Bruce’s forehead. “We all had an interesting time last night.”

“And what do we tell them now?” Bruce asked, fitting his glasses back on his face.

“Well,” Clint answered thoughtfully, “how do you feel about getting dinner sometime?”

Bruce’s smile could have lit up a city block. “I know a few good restaurants.”

 

 

/end


End file.
